Still, She Said Yes

And still she said yes.

Standing next to Joseph with the Baby in her arms, she received the prophecy foretold by Simeon and heard the words, “And a sword will pierce your heart.” It had only been eight days since His humble birth in the cave and the words proclaimed were not particularly consoling. Still, she said yes.

Fleeing to Egypt, facing the loss of her home and becoming an exile in an unkonwn land, Mary, with her stouthearted husband Joseph, immediately escaped town, putting nothing before the protection of her newborn babe. When it demanded great physical sacrifice, still, she said yes.

Loud noises, laughter of relatives, the clop of donkey’s hooves on rock, the feel of linen soaked with sweat against her back. It took a few days to realize He was not with them. Her heart sank as she and Joseph returned frantically in search of Him. “Mother, I must be about My Father’s house.” A new realization hit her of what it meant to release her son to the Father and what it would feel like to live without Him. Still, she said yes. 

It had really turned for the worse, as much as what the prophecy had foretold when He was but eight days old. Now, thirty-three years later, she stood listening to Pilate say the words no mother wants to hear. Jesus, her only begotten son, was condemned to death. The crowds jeered and swarmed with hateful energy all around her. The anger that filled men’s hearts moved about her like a monster. Yet she did nothing to stop it. Still, she said yes.

He hung above her, unrecognizable, thorns protruding from the crown of His head, blood still dripping from the lashes of the whip. “Mother, behold your son. Son, behold your mother.” It was then that she adopted the whole world, knowing it was the best consolation she could give her son. When her heart was grappling with the cruelty done to her son, and He gave her charge of all humankind, still, she said yes.

When His breath departed and Sabbath was drawing near, she took the dead, beaten, and battered body of her son into her arms. She who had once nursed Him when an infant, stroked His smooth, baby cheeks, and let her pinky be held by His pudgy fingers, she was there that moment they took Him down from the gruesome instrument of torture. She did not revile or curse the soldiers. 

Still she said yes.

Doing what no mother should have to do, but entering fully into the sorrow that many mothers have faced, the Blessed Mother laid her son in the grave. This was her full fiat. This was her total yes. She let Him go, even into the grave. As only a mother can, she wrapped the grave clothes around Him and covered His face, remembering what it was like that night in a different cave, thirty-three years before, when she wrapped His little, naked body in swaddling clothes. Even now she did not protest. She especially did not accuse the Father. Willingly, trustingly, she still said yes.

Mary always said yes to the will of the Father.

When it meant pain for her — she said yes.
When it meant leaving behind kin and country — she said yes.
When it meant separation from Him who was both her King and dear son — she said yes.
When it meant watching the worst verdict be passed on an innocent Man and the one whom she loved the most — still she said yes.
When it meant standing there seemingly doing nothing as He took His last breath — still she said yes.
When it meant laying Christ in the tomb and sealing it with a large stone — still she said yes.

How many parents wish to take the place of their children? How many would rather they fall ill or die instead of their child? Yet Mary did not interfere with the Father’s will in her son’s life. 

She still said yes. 

Mary, glorious Mother of us all, teach us to whole-heartedly accept the Father’s will like you do so well. Let no pain, fear, suffering, or sorrow be too much that we would close our hearts to God’s plan for redemption.

In hope, help us call to mind what is true for us, as it is already true for you:
For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. (Romans 8:18)

We ask for your Motherly aid to help us in the things that you succeeded in so well. Oh Mother, Our Lady of the Milk and Happy Delivery, pray for us that we may be worthy of deliverance from this valley of tears. Please do not stop being our intercessor and bring us to a happy delivery, the true birth into the Kingdom of God, our heavenly home.

You who nursed the infant Jesus, please grant us grace on our pilgrimage. We need your help, the same help you gave Jesus, that we may grow up into the full stature of Christ (Ephesians 4:13). You who nourished Christ in your womb, and at your breast, grant that we may receive this same nourishment that helped Him grow to be that strong, merciful Man who gave Himself as a complete gift of Self for the salvation of the world.

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There is something about contemplating the Seven Sorrows in the presence of Our Lady nursing the little Jesus. [I wrote this meditation while sitting in the chapel at the National Shrine of Our Lady of La Leche in St. Augustine, Floridea.]

Mary nursing Jesus is such an intimate, vulnerable, bonding thing to do. And she did it multiple times a day for years. Then, she let everything else happen to Him as she trusted the Father. She too lived in a world of incredible evil and hate. She was no stranger to it. And she loved with a full heart. She didn’t hold herself back from Jesus, Joseph, her relatives, or strangers.

She witnessed the greatest cruelty on earth and never lost hope. She had those special, quiet moments nursing her son yet she was also there with Him when He was stripped in front of an angry crowd that tried its best to take all dignity from Him.

She lived both a joyful and sorrowful life. And she did it well.

Little, baby, infant Jesus, teach me to receive from Your mother. Teach me to let her nurse me as she nursed You. You willingly received all the help and grace she could give You. Help me not think I’m too big or independent for the grace that she bestows. Help me not see myself as a full-fledged adult who can do everything on my own, but as a little, nursing child, who longs for her Mother. 

Teach me to be like You, little infant and child Jesus. I cannot grow up into the full stature of Christ if I do not start as He did. And You started by receiving everything through Mary. I have a feeling that I’ll never grow too old for this. I too, want to receive everything through Your Mother, as if I’m in her womb, because isn’t that where I am really?

So today, Mary and Jesus, I wish to renew my consecration to Jesus through Mary and in a particular way under the title of Our Lady of Milk and Happy Delivery. I choose this title, for it so well encapsulates the Christian journey — the call to trust, vulnerability, and littleness. I want to get to know who Mary is under this title and I want to practice being like Jesus in His mother’s arms. For it was in Mary’s arms that He rested both after His birth and His death. And it is in her arms that I will receive the most of God’s grace.

She is the place for me.